Page 12 of A Vicious Rumor

"I'm so fucking tired of your smug face," I said, climbing on top of Scissors and landing a punch to his jaw.

But Scissors, to his credit, didn't give in. He rocked his weight and somehow threw me off balance enough to scurry away. He cupped his face, which I could see through his fingers was leaking a bit of blood from somewhere. I hoped it was his nose. I hoped I'd fucked it up bad and that he wouldn't look so goddamn perfect anymore.

"You're a fucking coward," I said, before spitting on the glossy marble tile of the guest room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Paper’s voice boomed as he entered the space, followed by a number of nosey partygoers.

"She owes me an apology," I said, pointing at a still topless Meaghan who was hiding behind Paper, "and he's just a full time asshole," I said, pointing back at Scissors, who had finally stood up. He'd taken his hand down from his face and I groaned, seeing that I'd only managed to split his lip.

"As always, Rock is a total cockblock," Scissors said through bloody teeth.

"Enough," Paper said. "Rock, leave. I'll call you in the morning. Scissors, I'll deal with you after."

"You don't have to fucking tell me twice," I said, pushing past Paper and all of the people behind him. They parted for me and I made my way down the stairs alone, the heavy fall of my boots echoing throughout the corridor.

"You can all go to fucking hell," I yelled, as I started up my Jeep and peeled off into the night.

4

TYSON

My phone rang for the fifth time that morning. I groaned and rolled over, not answering it. I knew it was Paper. I knew he wanted to talk about what had happened at the party last night, and I was in no mood for it.

I was still extremely pissed off that the stupid girl had ruined my bracelet. That was the one thing that had meant anything to me in this world. Another example of a rich kid putting a crack in my life. When I'd gotten home I'd been able to see how bad it was, and it was bad. And, of course, that only made me angrier.

I'd managed to punch a few pillows in my room rather than break something. The way things were going, I wasn't sure my father would have the money to replace anything I broke.

I looked at my phone once it stopped ringing. Paper never left messages, and only in exceptional circumstances put things in text. It was just his style. He didn't like the idea that things could be used against him.

It was already ten in the morning. If my father actually had development projects to work on, then he would have been doing site visits. Instead, I was almost certain that he was still home.

I really didn't want to go downstairs and face him, but my stomach rumbled indicating it really didn't care about my ego at the present moment. I pushed out of the bed and pulled on a tee shirt and pair of sweatpants before making the slow walk down to the kitchen.

Our house was one of the fancier houses in the neighborhood, but that was because it was from an era apparently gone for our family. The entire house was solid oak flooring, and the stairs had intricate wrought iron balusters that created a fanciful design all the way down to the main floor. The kitchen was equally upscale, with slate colored appliances, because everyone else had stainless steel, we weren't that basic. Oh, and quartz countertops, because again, granite was overdone.

I was about to pull a box of cereal down from the cabinet, when I heard my father speaking on the phone through his office. I didn’t know why I took such an interest in everything related to the business. Most kids my age couldn't give two shits what their parents did for a living. For some reason, though, I just couldn't let it go. I wanted the business to last. I wanted to take it over and see it successful again. Deep down, though, I knew my father was standing in the way of that.

My grandfather had been the one to build this company. When he'd gotten out of the Navy after the war, he'd started his own little business, building houses. By the time he'd passed away, he'd turned it into an extremely profitable and successful enterprise. How my father had managed to ruin all of that in one lifetime was beyond me.

I left the cabinet door open and quietly made my way to my father's office. I stood just at the foot of the nearby stairs, holding onto the bannister and leaning as close as I dared, since the door was still cracked open.

"Jimmy, I know, but you gotta hold the bank off for just a little bit longer. I'm flying out at the end of the week to meet a potential buyer. If we can close, I'll have the money I need to repay the balance."

There was a pause and I stifled a sigh at hearing the topic conversation.

"I know the bank's given me a number of extensions, but I can't have them foreclose right now. We're so close to finishing this deal. I promise. It's only a buck fifty we owe. In the grand scheme of things, it's not that much."

I gritted my teeth. I knew damn well that my father owed more than $150,000 to various lenders. But, he was trying to stave each one off in turn, and it looked like one of them caught on and was trying to pull the loan.

And that just couldn't happen.

The company was basically like the final stages of a JENGA game. If any of the pieces got pulled, the entire thing would come crashing down.

"Alright, let me know," I heard my father say before I heard the phone hit the receiver. I made my way back into the kitchen quickly and within a minute, my father followed. I acted like I hadn't heard a thing and continued pouring my cereal into the bowl. I walked it over to the table and pulled out one of the high leather chairs and dug in.

My father sat across from me, not eating anything. He looked tired, but I didn't care. This wasn't the time to give up. It was the time to get busy.

"You'll be heading to your mother's by the end of the week," he said without even so much as a good morning. "Don't try and argue about it. I've already spoken with her, and she's expecting you."

---